History Awaits
by HyaHya
Summary: Bruce doesn't go entirely unnoticed. (During the events of Endgame)


History Awaits

_Summary: Bruce doesn't go entirely unnoticed._

The infinity stone is hot to the touch, and Bruce thinks he doesn't want to hold on to it for much longer. An otherworldly sense, one that must belong to the side of him that is the Hulk, feels the energy pouring off the rock. It's endless and powerful, and as similar as it may be to the gamma radiation that resides within him, too long out of a casing, even against his resistant flesh, is likely to accumulate permanent damage, eventually.

Bruce doesn't fancy testing his healing factor against one of the most powerful objects in the universe.

But he's got the time stone, and all he needs is to get back to the rendezvous where they can put the thing in a lead casing and bring everyone back. It's so close, and Bruce desperately wants to believe that they haven't failed the world, or they won't this time.

He drops off a building, into an alley awash with debris to avoid a number of chitauri crafts shooting overhead. He doesn't want to fight aliens. He doesn't really like to fight at all now. Most of him doesn't.

The concrete breaks apart beneath his bare feet when he crashes down. Some small part of him can't help but relish in the destruction. The rest of him tells himself that it's pride at nothing being able to hurt him, relief at finally being safe from all harm.

The shrieks and squawks of the chitauri die down, and the thrum of their engines fade away, so Bruce prepares for his next leap.

A low huff from beside him rockets his heart rate up and almost scares him back into astral form.

He turns slow, knowing exactly who is waiting for him.

Has he just committed a cardinal time-travelling sin? Talking to a past self—big no-no. If this counts as that.

Maybe he should use the time stone. Manipulate this moment, take himself back to the roof, jump a different way, take another path, hide in some other alley.

Even if Bruce had the knowledge and skill to operate the time stone, he knows it wouldn't matter. As much as the Banner of this time period would like to call his other half mindless, the Banner of today knows better. Whichever route he takes; his past will be waiting for him.

So, he rotates, and tries not to look like a threat. A difficult task for an enormous green man. He supposes his observer can understand that.

The Hulk from 2012 rests on his haunches. One fist presses into the pavement, into a miniature crater that can only have been made by him. He probably didn't even mean to. His eyes are an acid green colour that makes it hard for Bruce to tear his own gaze away, and the beast doesn't blink.

A low growl carries across the alley, Bruce feels it through the floor and up the naked pads of his feet. This alley is too small for them, two passing leviathans.

Why did he not see this occurring? Wasn't he supposed to be a genius?

He should know better than anyone how easy it is for a green behemoth to move silently. Personally, he prefers not to, since no one likes to know that a creature that only needs one fist within arm's reach to snatch and crush them can sneak up on them. And Bruce doesn't want anyone to be afraid of him.

So much so, that he'd forgotten to fear himself.

Bruce raises two viridian palms in surrender. "It's okay," he reassures, "no need to uh… smash."

At the word 'smash' Hulk's eyebrows twitch, as if he knows he's being mocked. Bruce can't be sure what his grasp is like on linguistics at this time, but he knows the Hulk can read emotions with unsettling accuracy.

Meaning he probably understands Bruce's cocktail of emotions better than Bruce does.

And Bruce can sense the Hulk's emotions too. Curiosity, distrust, anger, always the anger, taut on a hair-trigger.

"Banner…" The other rumbles. His eyes accuse. He's so much more primal than Bruce is. The voice is deeper, gravelly, like huge rocks scraping together. His face is different too, in a way that Bruce struggles to identify. The Hulk has always looked like Bruce but this one isn't as close as he is now. Thicker facial bones perhaps? The Hulk's brow seems thicker, and Neanderthal traits would match his ape-like behaviour.

"Ah…" Bruce takes a step back. "Not quite."

It occurs to him, as his angry, _very angry_ past self takes a threatening step forward that if they come to blows, the integrated Hulk is most likely to lose. Not only will it blow any chance of avoiding attention and disrupt the city further, but Bruce will lose, and he doesn't know at what point the Hulk will stop. Brains mean very little against unfettered rage.

Bruce learnt that at a very young age.

The Hulk smells the fear and moves closer again, lips curling to reveal his teeth and the top of his gums. A threatening act in primates, Bruce notes. His second thought is _maybe this isn't the time to classify the Hulk._

He keeps stepping closer, and Bruce is running out of space to step back. If his back hits the wall, his fear will spike and that will certainly set the Hulk off. He's getting closer and closer, threatening, threatening and threatening and Bruce starts to feel his own snarl forming before he curbs that particular impulse.

But it's enough for the Hulk to stop, as if he recognises something in Bruce's brief lapse.

He huffs, backs out of Bruce's space and begins pacing back and forth. More rubble is crushed into dust with every angry step.

He has nothing to say, so he lets the Hulk ruminate, prowling around the alley, growling, baring his teeth then looking away, sniffing him and changing his mind, eyes snapping to Bruce at the slightest movement.

He stops, finally. His eyes flick between Bruce and himself many times before he seems to decide.

Then he bellows in Bruce's face.

It's so sudden, so unexpected, and there's hot breath in his face, chitauri scream around them at the noise, and the Hulk's breath is hot and it smells—flesh and blood and dirt—because he's been eating the goddamn aliens and that was something Bruce really didn't want to know and he didn't expect it and he's in his space and he's so close _threat threat threat_ he hates being yelled at, being yelled at is followed by being hit and he hates being hit no stop get away _no!_

Bruce roars back, unable to stop himself.

The Hulk has the gall to look pleased with himself while shame pools in Bruce's stomach. The savagery is still in him, controlled and restrained but the Hulk could see it, and was smart enough to poke it and force it out.

"Banner…" His other growls again, fists raised. "Banner and Hulk." Then he puts his hands together, like a prayer. Bruce's anger and embarrassment vanishes immediately because the Hulk is smart, he's so fucking smart, even now, even like this and he doesn't even bother to restrain the bark of laughter that is so much more the Hulk than Banner because he's proud because the Hulk is smart and the Banner of this time period has no idea how fucking smart the Hulk is. The Hulk _understands_ he sees Bruce, he knows he's not from this time, he knows he's not quite the Hulk or Bruce and he understands. He just doesn't have the vocalisation capabilities to explain himself, and he's ruled by a rage that takes two of them to control.

The Hulk gets it, and Bruce's lips can't help but peel back in that savage smile the Hulk is so fond of.

His past self-mirrors him, and Bruce swells with delight. Understanding. No words but, understanding. Words come later.

He reaches out a hand.

Hulk reaches out his own hand, and it's shaking, and Bruce has never seen that before.

Then a chitauri jet smashes into the building across the street and the Hulk snatches his hand away.

The anger builds, Bruce can see it in the Hulk's face, rising like the steam in a boiling kettle, the shrill whistle and howl that makes it impossible to listen, _to think_. It takes two to hold back that tide, and right now, the Hulk is only one.

He's blinking at Bruce trying not to snarl but failing. The anger is snatching his reason away. His face is heartbreakingly conflicted as he hears the chitauri yet sees Bruce.

He wants to speak, but he's forgotten how.

The anger wins. It always wins.

Bruce doesn't even flinch this time when the Hulk screams in his face and charges out of the alley. He hears chitauri being torn apart seconds later.

There's a twinge of sadness in him as he resumes his journey back to the others. It will take nine years, the most guilt Bruce has ever felt, and the end of the world to find a balance, for the Hulk to stop being angry, for Banner to feel safe.

There's so much loss and destruction coming for his past selves.

But it's the only way Bruce knows how to find himself.


End file.
